


The Marriage of Jon Snow

by FionaRex (orphan_account)



Series: Game of Thrones Collection Series [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, M/M, Mpreg, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:47:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/FionaRex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> </p><p>Jon Snow was the child born of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen and for that Robert Baratheon didn't kill him. But when Lyanna and Rhaegar passed, Jon was sent to live with his uncle, the lord Eddard Stark, in Winterfell. However, the blood of the dragon tends to...change things. So it is discovered that Jon is...different and so he is married off in a tourney as the royal family arrives in Winterfell. When Jon is taken to King's Landing and it is found that he is with child, all hell breaks loose as those seeking to gain the iron throne target Jon and his new husband, the hand of the king Jaime Lannister. What will become of Jon and the unborn child? What will happen to Winterfell in the wake of disaster? Only time will tell.</p><p> </p><p>Major Character Death only applies to those in any other house than Stark. Sorry guys, I know I'm evil, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Arrival of the King

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm throwing Lyanna and Rhaegar into this and for the sake of argument I've cast two beautiful actors for this:
> 
> Jaime Alexander (Sif from Thor) as Lyanna  
> Lee Pace (Thranduil from The Hobbit) as Rhaegar
> 
> Also, Jon snow gets sold off in marriage to Jaime Lannister and apparently he can get pregnant, too. I don't even know. This is extremely loose cannon. 
> 
> Also, R+L=J and he was raised as Ned's nephew, not son and Catelyn doesn't hate him.
> 
> And one last thing: Khal Drogo decided to marry Viserys instead of Dany and we're going to pretend that Viserys wasn't a complete jerk. So yeah. Oh, and Benjen marries a whore. Literally.

   When Robert Baratheon's rebellion had started, it was for him to take the Iron Throne and Lyanna with it. However, plans changed when Jaime found her dead, new babe in arms and her brother Ned Stark right beside her, reaching for said babe. Jaime was young but had the maturity to turn away as Ned said his farewell and mourned his beloved little sister. The babe did not release a single cry as it was taken from it's mother's arms and placed in the Lord Stark's instead. 

     Jaime had turned back as Lord Stark passed him, seeing the infant and wondering. The infant was black haired, like it's mother, and so very small it almost seemed as if to just pick the poor thing up would break it. 

     "Lord Stark, what is it?" Jaime asked. Ned turned around with tears in his eyes but a calm expression nevertheless.

     "A boy. I will call him Jon snow and I will raise him in Winterfell. He is my nephew so he'll be in Winterfell. Robert will be...displeased." He stared at Jaime a moment longer before the knight nodded, understanding the unspoken plea in Ned's eyes. This baby boy was all he had left of his sister and if it meant so much to him as to risk the life of the rest of his family then Jaime would protect him. 

     After Ned had returned to Winterfell, Benjen gone to The Wall, and Jaime had spoken with Robert of the infant, the House Baratheon established on the Iron Throne, there was a question in Robert's mind. As they burned the bodies of the Targaryen family and Lyanna's was taken to be buried at Winterfell, Robert wondered about the child. Everything in him said to destroy it for the Targaryen blood in it's veins. But there was something that told him to leave it, to let the child live. He was Ned's best friend but Lyanna had been Ned's sister and this child was the only thing left of Lyanna in this world. So perhaps it was merciful to leave the infant alone. 

     Robert had returned to his throne and began running his kingdom. Jaime was made the hand of the king, Cersei bore a son in time. Ned and Catelyn in Winterfell bore children, as well, all the while raising Jon as a trueborn son, not of Ned's but of Lyanna Stark. Over time, Westeros had returned to peace, or relative peace, and the effects of the dragon blood were discovered. Jon, on his 15th nameday, was examined and the shock of it nearly put the Lady Stark in a frenzy. She was frantic and sought Ned down all over Winterfell, forgetting the deserter from the wall before she tracked Luwin down again and told him she'd handle it. Trying to explain to her 15-year-old nephew that he could bear a child just as any woman could was something she would wish to spare her husband from. 

     It was when Ned returned, blood coating the sleeves of his coat and Theon tagging along behind him with the Stark sword in hand, Ser Rodrik Cassel and another guard carrying a handful of direwolf pups, which she would ask about later, that she decided to tell him. Now, when he was already clearly upset, was a good time.

     That day, they decided Jon's fate.  _To be vied for with marriage in a tourney was an honorable thing_ , Ned had told him.  _It is a sign that you are worthy of such attention, that you are worth the blood and sweat and ceremony of a marriage tourney._ Jon had reluctantly agreed, though he had said no more than that. He was just as honorable as his uncle and he would do whatever he must to serve his house. Robb didn't understand that kind of selfless loyalty at such a young age, and when he wasn't even in line to gain anything as well, but had said nothing as they prepared Jon for this new role he would take on. Two years of training for marriage and servitude to the king as it were, as he would likely be marrying someone in the King's household. Jon was terrified of this but did as he was told. 

     He bathed, he learned, he sparred, he bathed some more. It seemed to him as if the Stark family was trying to hide the man inside him and ready the woman to present herself to the knights and lords who would compete for the hand of Jon Snow in marriage. Of course he was all man, but there was this part of him that Maester Luwin had discussed with Lady Catelyn Stark, this part that was so female that Jon had this gift, this ability to bear a child the way no man before him ever had. This was seen as a gift, not a curse as Theon would later torment Jon with, and, as such, it was to be bartered off to the most worthy man able to prove himself before the Starks. Robb had told Jon it was the Targaryen blood that made him so special. Jon wondered about that sometimes late at night, after everyone else had already gone to their beds and he would sit out at the stables, staring at the starry sky and wishing he knew his mother and father the way Robb knew the Lord and Lady Stark. All he ever heard was quietly whispered stories of them in discussions between the servants and others residing in Winterfell.

     Jon was told some of the names of those competing. Loras Tyrell, the knight of flowers as he was called would be there, as would Renly Baratheon, Stannis Baratheon, though he was already married, and Tywin Lannister, of all people, was to join in, as well. Jon was terrified of becoming a Lannister. He had heard all the stories of their family, how cruel and fierce they were, how they had burned the Targaryen queen and her children. He had heard how they had slaughtered the Targaryen king and declared death to those Targaryen's remaining, across the Narrow Sea. And yet, because he had this gift, Jon was somehow safe from the destruction promised to the other Targaryens, Danaerys and Viserys Targaryen.

     Robb had once joked that Theon would compete as well, if he had a home to take Jon to. This had made Jon smile, as his entire life up until the tourney would be endless long lines of sparring, bathing, learning, practice your bow, practice your expressions, don't be rude, smile a little more, make yourself presentable, don't slouch, stop sulking, fix your hair, smile a little more again, quit frowning, don't be so grim. All of this and Jon was ready to drown himself in the lake if he could ever get away from anyone long enough to do so. He would sit for endless hours as the servants fussed over his hair and face, trying to make him as beautiful as possible to those competing. He was comfortable enough by now that he could stand naked in a room full of Starks and servants, being touched all over and measured from head to toe just to ensure that he was perfect on the day. At this point, it was one of the more usual things he underwent. It all came to a head on his 17th nameday when word arrived that the king and his family would be arriving in Winterfell within the week, as well others from other houses. 

     Catelyn and Ned prepared all of Winterfell for this, for Winterfell had not held a tourney for many years and this was to be for the Lord Stark's nephew. Jon was, once again, sat down and prepared for the imminent arrival of the competitors and he internally braced himself for the dismal fate to which he was resigned, doomed to a loveless marriage with many children. 

     The only thing that cheered him in the week leading up to the tourney were his cousins, the Stark children. Arya enjoyed a little archery practice with him, Bran learned how to properly swing a sword with Jon teaching him, Robb spent many of his sparring lessons with Jon as his opponent, Sansa and Jon were able to discuss the philosophy of marriage and the expectations therein, and Rickon went to Jon on the nights he couldn't sleep and listened to all the stories he would spin, stories Jon had, in turn, heard from Lady Stark when he was younger and he didn't want to sleep. Lady Stark would ley him down and weave stories about ancient kingdoms and dragons and warrior princes and knights in extravagant armor. She always knew that his favorite stories were the ones with the knights in the gold armor, the fierce ones who would fight an army to defend their king and who would win with their charm and wit and strength and speed. Jon was always fascinated by those ones and so the Lady Stark would tell them more often. She even gave a name to one of the golden-armored knights Jon was so enamored with. She named the man Rylen and he was a perfect analogy of everything Jon had ever wanted, a protective father, a loving mother, a charming husband, a witty friend. Even as a child, Jon always knew he would marry a man older than himself. It was rare that men in Westeros married anyways, as it was only ever accepted in a dire situation where there was no other way around it but Jon always had this feeling, like he knew he would marry a knight in golden armor, even before he knew what marriage was.

     "Jon, why are you sulking? Stop being so boring and come help me train Nymeria." Arya said one night. It was the night before the king and his household were to arrive, the others would follow after, and Arya had been trying to teach Nymeria to fetch her gloves for the past four days, to no avail. It  _had_ provided Jon with a good laugh, though. That is, until Robb corrected him with a good, hard slap to the side of the head. 

     "Arya, this is hardly the time to train her. Besides, the king will be here tomorrow and I'm told I need to rest. Maester Luwin and aunt Catelyn have been watching me like a hawk. I think the only thing we'd accomplish is me in bed with a massive headache and you locked in your room, with or without Nymeria." Jon tried hard to ignore his little cousin's pout, despite how well it worked on everyone else. 

     "But you can bring Ghost and train him, too." she whined. Jon chuckled as he toussled his black curls, grinning at himself in the mirror beside his bed.

     "But Ghost does not need to be trained, my dearest Arya. The runt, it seems, is more intelligent than all the others." Arya narrowed her eyes, glaring at the back of Jon's head.

     "Is that supposed to mean something?" she asked. Jon spun around and faced her, his hands braced on the wall. 

     "No, no it is not, Arya. Although it you want to take it that way, then go right on ahead. Now, off you go to sleep because the king and his people will be here tomorrow and we both need sleep. Especially me, since I'm being sold off like some cheap bride. Oh, but don't tell your mother I said that. I'm supposed to be, what is it, ah yes! I'm supposed to be selfless and loyal to the House Stark to the point of never even granting my own opinions. In other words, my opinion doesn't count." Arya's face turned to a look of disgust.

     "But it's  _your_ hand in marriage, not theirs." she said.

     "Yes, I know, Arya. But I am the nephew of Lord Stark, not his son. Therefore, they must marry me off to someone. So, run along now and get some rest. I need to sleep so I don't accidentally scream profanities at the knights competing for the right to bed me and breed me because, as we know, that's the only real reason the tourney was thought up in the first place." 

     "Well, that's revolting. Yes, fine, Jon! I'll go to sleep now. But I want to see you first thing tomorrow, before they take you away to be fitted for that ugly thing they call a tunic. I can't believe they're making you wear that." Jon glared at Arya as she finished. Sighing, she waved her hand dismissivey and rushed from the room, just as Ghost padded his way back into it. 

     "Hey, boy. Come on. Let's get some rest. Now that Arya is gone I think I can actually manage it." Jon smiled as he fell down onto his bed, Ghost jumping up after him. Jon didn't even bother to remove his clothes. True, he slept naked on most night just because Winterfell castle was so warm with all the furs and the fireplaces they all had but he was just  _so_ tired at this point that it didn't even matter to him, even as Ghost laid himself down on Jon's feet, making Jon significantly that much warmer. 

     "I think I'll avoid Robb tomorrow, yeah? What do you think, Ghost? They've been aweful trying today. The both of them seem to think it's funny to throw me into awkward situations. Did I tell you that earlier today we were in the stables and they suggested a dip in the lake right outside the walls so we went, yeah? They ended up taking my clothes and leaving me to walk back naked to the castle, the first one to greet me at the walls was the blacksmith. Now I can't even look him in the eyes when I go to pick up Arya's sword tomorrow. Lady Stark was not happy, though. She gave them a good one. She was all on about nobility and honor and family and how to treat someone in a position like mine. I don't really know what that is but she seemed pretty serious. Anyways, to sleep now, Ghost. And tomorrow I'll sign the rest of my life away." Jon sighed, staring at his ceiling and the small hole Bran had made in it nearly three years prior, allowing Jon to see the stars of the North without having to leave the safety of his room and climb onto the roof of Winterfell castle.

     So Jon enjoyed the little time he had left. Jon admired the stars as he grew up, waiting for the moment when he would be passed on to a strange man he had never met and he was forced to sit the rest of his days away in King's Landing, surrounded by royals who wanted nothing more than to destroy each other and steal the other's valuables. And all Jon wanted was his knight in golden armor, unaware of just how close he was. 


	2. Not Quite the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally an update! Yes! Sorry for the long wait, I've been busier than usual. This is basically a "tie up all loose threads" kind of chapter where we meet the royal family and give a little bit of time for each of the main characters, and some minor ones, too. 
> 
> So...basically, the pre-tourney preparations and establishing the foundation for the story.  
> So yeah. I hope you enjoy. As always, comments and kudos are recommended.

     It took a good half hour just for Lady Catelyn Stark to wake Jon Snow up as he had rolled out of his bed sometime in the night, still wrapped in thick furs, and settled on the hard wood floor near the fireplace, content to be left alone for the rest of the long summer, though it never really felt like summer in the North anyway. 

     When she had finally gotten him to move, he was up and about with her and Maester Luwin, going from one chamber to the next trying on robes and tunics of all different colors for the tourney as Catelyn was afraid that Queen Cersei would find fault in anything Jon wore. After all, he wasn't a woman so the beauty was immediately less evident.

     They had settled, at last, in Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn's chambers with the maester, Lady Catelyn, Robb, Sansa, and Bran looking on and offering words of advice every so often. Robb felt that the robes should have been worn in a manlier fashion while Sansa pointed out that it was the more  _feminine_ side they were trying to play up for the royal family. Catelyn had nodded in proud approval at that, remarking on how wise and observant her eldest daughter was. Jon, on the other hand, merely shrugged and grunted when he was pushed in a new direction, into a new position, bearing it all under the threat of his step-mother's guilt-inducing resignation.

     Arya, meanwhile, was off with Rickon and Theon cleaning and preparing the horses for the jousting, which was to be the main event of the tourney. Arya had originally meant to do it with Theon alone, but then Rickon had asked as Jon had been given a new horse by Lord Eddard, a white mare named Maedun, and Rickon wanted to see her. She, of course, would not be in the tourney. She was just for Jon's riding pleasure. 

     It was about midday when Ser Rodrik Cassel came to the Lord Stark, who was making the arrangements for the dining hall, with word that the royal family and the Lannisters' were just outside the gates of Winterfell. As such, it was a bit of a mad rush to get word around in a matter of minutes and have the Stark family, Jon included, situated at the gates of Winterfell to greet the royal family. 

     The horses were the first thing Rickon noticed, of course. He was six and so was prone to wonder about the equipment rather than the people themselves. Arya was at Jon's side, who was stood next to the Lord and Lady Stark.

     "Do you think they're going to like you?" She asked, pulling on Jon's sleeve to get him to lean down to her. He smiled and shrugged.

     "Who knows? I certainly couldn't care less, just as long as the tourney is done."

     "But you'll be going to their city or wherever it is they go. Don't you care where you end up?" She asked as the king and queen began greeting those of Winterfell, starting with Rickon.

     "Yes, of course. I just am not looking forward to all that the tourney entails, at least not in the middle. The beginning is a dull affair and the end would make even the stoutest of men a nervous wreck. It is the middle that is boring and drawn out and wholly unnecessary, I think." Jon sighed, rolling his eyes.

     "Ah, so you're just worried about being bored, is all? Don't worry, Jon, you have me and Robb for that." Arya said, and she would have said more if Jon had not hushed her, for the king and queen had reached them now to greet.

     Queen Cersei looked upon Jon with barely hidden disdain, a subtle loathing veiling itself in the guise of a curious, sun stricken glare.

     King Robert was entirely different. He beamed with pride at Jon and gave him a good, hearty smack on the back, nearly throwing the young man to his feet.

     "So, young Snow. You're to be married then, eh? I suppose you've already chosen a favourite, huh?" Robert asked. Jon gave a sidelong glance to his uncle and Eddard just cocked his head, a good sign to just humor the man.

     "Your Grace, I haven't chosen anyone. I'm still waiting for the others to arrive and I will settle myself with the victor and no complaints." Jon smiled patronizingly and had the sinking feeling that Robert saw through it all. And yet, the man truly was gracious for he spared the young man his remarks and instead nodded, continuing on to Arya.

     It was later, at the welcoming feast for the royal family and the Lannisters, that Jon saw him: the man in the golden armor he had always dreamed about. A tall, strong, golden haired man with well defined, chiseled features and deep blue eyes. Ser Rodrik said that the man was Jaime Lannister, brother to the queen Cersei. Jon had this feeling like he knew, but he was afraid. 

     "I hope he's nothing like his sister if that's the man you're after." Robb said to him, whispering into his ear in the raucous hall during the feast. Cersei had been downright cold to Jon the entire time since arriving in Winterfell and so far, the only one to greet Jon in any other capacity than the unique qualities of his breeding abilities was Tyrion, who had instead asked if Jon planned to go easily enough to the arms of his future husband when the man was crowned victor. Jon had no answer for that and didn't think one was required as Tyrion had merely smiled at him and walked away, mumbling something about the lack of whores in the North.

     Jon then spent the rest of the day, until early evening, at least, with Catelyn Stark, Robb Stark, and Ser Rodrik accompanying Robert Baratheon, Cersei, Tywin Lannister, Joffrey Baratheon, Jaime Lannister, and Tyrion Lannister, as well as The Hound, around Winterfell and discussing different things here or there. Eventually, they had ended up at the stables looking over Maedun as Jon distracted himself with braiding her hair, both neck and tail.

     "So, what is she? What breed? She's a beautiful horse." Joffrey said, looking her up and down with wide eyed curiosity. Jon hated it, the hungry gaze the spoiled prince was giving his beautiful Maedun, like he wanted her all to himself. As far as he knew, prince Joffrey was never denied any of his desires by his mother, the cold hearted queen. 

     "Does it matter, boy? The point is she's beautiful. You've given him a fine gift, Ned. She's already coddling him like an overprotective mother, look." Robert pointed to Jon and Maedun's feet and everyone looked down to see the mare with her hoofs intertwined with Jon's, her neck wrapped around his arm as he tried to disentangle his fingers from her hair.

     "It's completely natural, I feel. After all, she will be the only living thing, besides the direwolf, of course, that Jon will take with him when he goes...wherever the victor resides. She and the dire wolf will be all he has. A man has to guard his possessions." Ned remarked, trying to make eye contact with Jon. The young man seemed strangely moody and kept his head down, artfully weaving through Maedun's hair like it was second nature.

     Later, after the dinner feast was had and sleeping quarters were decided upon, Robert had taken Ned aside and expressed his concern over Jon.

     "Let's say that Jaime or Tywin wins the boy. Let's just say that they want to  _see_ the proof of  _unique_ ability, right? So, let us see it then, Ned. In private, just yourself and the two men. That's all." Eddard was, of course, offended. The very first thing Robert had done when he arrived, after greeting everyone, was heading to the crypts to look upon Lyanna Stark's grave, the very same Lyanna Stark who made the lord of Winterfell promise to care for her son and now Robert, the man who once claimed to be in love with her, was demanding that her son be stripped naked in a room of men he didn't know and examined by hands he had never felt in areas he had dared never give thought to. To Eddard, the very idea was repulsive. And yet...there was something in him that knew. He wanted to protect his nephew, the nephew he had raised as a son, but there was something that told him to let the boy become a man. Something akin to a disembodied voice that whispered the need to toughen up the young Jon Snow. A voice that sounded oddly enough like Rhaegar Targaryen, and Ned had only ever heard that voice once.

     Eddard decided he would listen. He gave into the voice for Lyanna's sake, for Jon's sake, knowing the consequences otherwise, and led Jon to the Lord and Lady Stark's personal chambers in the belief that the young man would be fitted for more robes, a task Jon hardly had the energy or patience for. It was when the door opened and therein stood Maester Luwin, Catelyn Stark, Robert, Tywin, Tyrion, Jaime, Cersei, and The Hound Sandor Clegane that Jon finally understood. It was the white, satin robes laying out on the bed and the bathing towel Maester Luwin held that gave it away for Jon. Being the strong 17-year-old boy he was, or so he told himself, Jon promised himself he would not cry. He told himself that this was just a part of the tourney and his marriage and that it was essential and it really wasn't that bad. 

     So, after his bath, given by Luwin in the comfort of relative privacy, at least, Jon was laid out on the bed, legs bent and spread, white robes covering all else, not that it mattered anyway as all his  _'private areas'_ were already unveiled for the whole room to see, a traumatic event for a young man's first time. Ned had even expressed as much and Jaime had gently laughed, a soft sound that eased Jon's already frayed nerves.

     "Ned, this boy will have many firsts. Think about it. His first time in the marriage bed, his first time giving birth if all goes as planned, his first time doing anything and everything that matteres in life. Relax, he'll be fine. I imagine you trust your maester?" Robert asked, earning a glare from Cersei who still had such heavy, seething hatred towards Jon. Tyrion noticed her look and rolled his eyes, cocking his head to see around Jon's bent knees and spread legs, revealing a single tear streaming down the young man's face. Jon angrily wiped it away as Jaime approached him, leaning down to whisper something in his ear. Tyrion was too far to see or hear what it was but he could tell that it certainly did the trick, as Jon cheered right up afterwards.

     After the examination was finished, Jon sat still and rigid in the corner with Jaime, neither talking nor looking at each other, just the close proximity and thighs hardly touching. Jon kept his eyes on the floor.  Ned and Maester Luwin talked while Robert pulled Cersei aside, outside the door.

     "Cersei Lannister, you have one damn job: to bear me children and to look after the children. Your brother does not belong to you, nor does your father. Jon Snow is exactly what Maester Luwin said he was and he is delicate, prone to stress. If he is upset enough to lose his fertility or his value in any way, I will have you blamed for it, whether you are involved or not because you will most likely be involved anyway, and I swear by the gods I will have you hanged. Do you understand me?" Robert demanded. Cersei breathed deeply and nodded, seething anger behind her eyes, steeling herself against him. He was called back in the room by Ned as Catelyn left the room with Jon and Maester Luwin. They gave the excuse that Jon was tired, of course, and needed his rest for tomorrow. Robert was not an idiot. He could see the distress clearly on the boy's face and chose to say nothing of it. It would only make things worse. It was Cersei's idea, after all, to prove the true nature of Jon Snow. 

     "The first event will start tomorrow and the Tyrell's will arrive, as well. Ser Loras will be participating in the events for Jon Snow's hand and Margaery Tyrell will be accompanying them. As such, it is a good idea that we all get rest and brace ourselves for the start of the tourney. And let us not allow our tempers to decide our attitude. It is vitally important tomorrow for appearances. The remainder of those participating will be arriving throughout the week. So, calm yourselves and prepare yourselves. Off to bed with all us then, yes?" Tywin looked around the room as he finished speaking, seeing if anyone would challenge him before they all dismissed and went to their separate chambers.

     That night, Jaime and Tyrion lay on the same bed, they had a chamber with two beds but they had become engrossed in a very riveting conversation with each other while staring out the same hole in the ceiling that Bran had made in seemingly twelve other rooms, as well, and talked about Jon Snow, of course. 

     "There's this part of me, you know, that just wants to say to hell with the tourney, I'll marry the damn kid, let's just go back to King's Landing and get back on with life, and then there's this other part of me that's just like wait, this is a break away from all the dull regularities and duties of normal life. I get a chance to partake in something that not only matters but I get to watch others fail embarassingly doing the same thing I'm spectacular at. It's not a huge dilemma, of course, but it  _is_ for him, you see?" Jaime said, not even glancing at his brother as he spoke in curious wonder.

     "Well, he is 17 years old and a virgin. Therefore, one can assume he will know very little of the marriage bed and married life.  _I_ know very little of married life. Hell, I never  _want_ to. As such, let us assume that you win and  _do_ take the boy home. What would you do with him besides the required breeding?" Tyrion asked. Jaimed clicked his tongue and thought about it for a moment.

     "I suppose I would teach him something worthwhile. Yeah, I would teach him the politics, how to play the game. Not that I would ever set him up to usurp Robert or anything like that but I would definitely teach him something so that he could busy himself. The gods know how dull life in King's Landing is without anything to do." Jaime and Tyrion shared a laugh in unison and continued to stare at the stars.

     "So, do you ever think he would usurp Robert if you gave him the chance? He is Targaryen, after all." Tyrion asked. Jaime had to think a while over this one and he sighed before he answered.

     "I would trust my life to him in whatever situation, given that I will take him as mine in marriage if I win, but I would prefer he not. To usurp the king and start another war, that would be  _so_ inconvenient for me. I'm having so much fun, too." Jaime said, making the smile in his voice clearly evident for Tyrion's benefit. 

     "You would trust your life?" Tyrion asked.

     "I would trust my life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....Sorry for any mistakes. I'm doing this story on about 14 hours of sleep total this week and this is sort of a filler before we get into the real substance. 
> 
> So, if there is anything y'all notice that may need attention, drop me a comment. You can also reach me at my tumblr by the same name, FionaRex, here:
> 
> http://fionarex.tumblr.com/
> 
> As always, questions, comments, kudos, totally appreciated.


	3. superbia non diligit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title translates to 'pride loves not' in Latin. This will relate to how Jaime sees Jon later on so, yes, it is relevant. 
> 
> Also, this chapter will be longer because I have to introduce a lot of people and set up the first day of the tourney and so..yeah. It's gonna take a while to get to it so just be patient. It will be worth it...hopefully.

     Jon Snow was still shaken the next morning and had resorted to sitting at the long table in the feasting hall as close to Lady Catelyn as she would allow. Tyrion had taken it upon himself to approach them and apologize on his father's behalf, bowing his head in sympathy when he noticed the careful suspicion in the young Snow's dark eyes. The Lord Stark had finally found the time to sit down and eat for himself as he had been run all over Winterfell looking to the guests and the preparations for the tourney. 

     It was around early midmorning when Ser Rodrik came to the Lord and Lady, walking with Jon around the lake outside the walls of Winterfell while Robb saw to the guests, informing them that the House Tyrell had arrived, among others. Lord Stark nodded but stayed behind with Jon and Catelyn by the lake.

     "Do you understand what happens now, Jon?" Eddard asked. Jon solemnly nodded, eyes downcast while Catelyn smoothed her hands over his shoulders, trying to offer some comfort to him.

     "Wh-who of the House Tyrell will be in the tourney, Uncle?" Jon asked. Catelyn drew her outer robes tighter against herself as the chill in the air picked up. 

     "Loras Tyrell, the son of the lord of House Tyrell. Now, he is not a bad choice, Jon. He is a knight and he is a decent man. I-I hate to see you go through all of this. It is difficult, I understand. I promised your mother I would look after you and this is your best hope for a good future, or well enough. You are my nephew, not my son, and if you were my son you would not have to endure any of this, unique condition or no. I truly am sorry, Jon." Lord Eddard whispered, his eyes conveying the guilt he laid on himself. Jon thought back to the events of the night prior and smiled softly.

     "I do not blame you, Uncle Ned. I'll be fine. Like Aunt Catelyn says, it's time to let the child go and the man awake. I need to mature now. I'm ready for this." Jon said, turning to see Catelyn's face, as well. She had learned to train her expressions into masks of bravery, for Jon's sake, early on in the discovery of his condition. Lord Eddard beamed at him with pride and led the way into the fortress to greet their new guests.

     Jon was surprised at how gentle and soft spoken Loras was, differing from the others he had met who were to be in the tourney. Sandor Clegane, for one, had been quiet and gruff, barely sociable, and Joffrey spoke only of how many babes he would get Jon with and how they would all be brave knights and fair ladies. Jon had tried his hardest not to scoff or chuckle. The only thing that had saved him then was Tyrion's wise discernment and subsequent interception of the situation, which was when he took Joffrey away on the entirely convincing lie that the boy was needed by Cersei. Jon had later thanked Tyrion for that, in private, which was a serious crime if anyone had found out. Jon was not to be left alone with anyone other than the interior members of House Stark. It was really only for his safety. 

     Tywin, however, was not nearly as bad as his grandson. It seemed to Jon that the head of House Lannister retained some moral decency, or at least a little bit of wisdom. He had actually sat Jon down while in the prescence of no one other than Rickon and told Jon that, when it came to marriage, to respect one's spouse was to gain their respect and that by disrespecting them one would lose the faith and confidence of their closest ally. He had then told Jon that this was why Joffrey had no chance of winning. Because for Joffrey the tourney was about his victory, not the life of the young man dependent on the results of the tourney. Joffrey was far too focused on the future, the years ahead that he could not control and so he would lose the very things before him in his rush to achieve that victory. Wise words that had impressed Jon and Jaime had later brushed it off, telling him that there was the reason Tywin had managed to make House Lannister one of the most powerful houses in Westeros, followed by the Tyrell's. Mace Tyrell was, according to Jaime and Tyrion, a man as equally wise and discerning as Tywin. 

     When the Tyrell's had arrived, Jon also got the chance to meet Renly and Stannis Baratheon, greeting them at the entrance gates of Winterfell. Renly seemed so distracted, focusing more on Loras Tyrell under the claim that they were good friends and he wanted to see how his friend was doing. Jon, though naive at the best of the times and utterly lost at the worst, was not an idiot and could very clearly see through Renly's lie. It was then that he knew he would rather hang himself than be married off to Renly or Loras. It would kill him to be with either of these men, to live in a loveless and cold marriage, valued only for his breeding abilities, for the rest of his life. 

     Stannis was polite enough, nodding to Jon, who had moved on to the Winterfell training area with Ser Rodrik, and addressing him as Lord Snow, then departing to the seating with a mysterious red woman at his side. Jon thought better of asking about her when he heard a loud shout behind him. He turned to look at the commotion and saw, standing by the front gates, his uncle Benjen Stark, flanked by a chubby, confused looking young man who appeared to be slightly older than Jon. He wondered but ignored the lad for now, instead strutting to embrace his uncle.

     "How are you, Jon? It's been so long since I last saw you. You-you look good." Benjen said, out of breath and looking his nephew up and down in admiration. Jon smiled with pride.

     "I'm-I'm doing alright, Uncle. I'm alright. I just can't wait for this bloody thing to be over already. But nevermind me, we'll have plenty of time. Who is this?" He asked, nodding to the lad behind Benjen. 

     "Ah, yes. This! This, my boy, is Samwell Tarly. He's a brother on the wall, new recruit. I said I'd take him with me if he did everything as the Lord Commander Mormont asked. He managed it all, barely. He's still green. Anyways, I told him about you, said he might get to know you, yeah?" he smiled at Jon, his most charming, clueless smile and Jon couldn't refuse him. He leaned in and embraced his uncle again before the man nodded and left to find Lord Stark, leaving Samwell with Jon. 

     "So, uh, you took the black, huh? How old are you, Samwell?" Jon asked. The young man wiped his sweaty palms on the thick furs covering his black leather and cleared his throat. 

     "I, uh, I'm eighteen years as of last month. My f-father made me take the black, sent me to the wall because...well, he just did. He has...he has another son."

     "Are you the oldest?" Jon asked suspiciously. It was when Sam looked the other way and refused to meet Jon's eyes that he knew he'd struck a nerve.

     "Ah, so you are. You  _are_ the oldest and your father forced you into taking the black. Don't worry. I won't ask and I won't mention it to anyone, if that's what you want. I'm more preoccuppied by this tourney, I'm afraid." Jon said. The look of gratitude on Sam's face confirmed everything for him. He nodded and put his hands on his hips, deciding to wait it out by the gates until Lady Catelyn or someone else forced him to the seats, when the tourney began.

     Jon also noted that among the guests, Lady Catelyn's sister Lysa Tully had arrived with her husband Jon Arryn and their son Robin, Loras' sister Margaery Tyrell was flittering around Sansa and Arya, Petyr Baelish, an apparent old friend of Catelyn's, spent his company with Robert Baratheon and Lord Eddard, Lord Varys busied himself with looking after Tyrion, who was whispering things into the ears of Ros, one of the women Jon would see Theon with quite often. Jon knew she was a whore and, being so pretty and skilled, she serviced most of the men of the North. Two other men had accompanied Petyr Baelish on the trip to Winterfell, Syrio Forel and the king's justice Ser Ilyn Payne. Ser Ilyn frightened Jon and he averted his gaze any time the man walked by him. At one point he had even smiled at Jon and it felt as though his heart stopped. He had told Robb about it that night after the tourney and the heir of Winterfell had only laughed at him and called him childish, saying that if Jon was sold off to Jaime Lannister he would have to see Ser Ilyn more often then.

     When the tourney finally  _did_ start, and it took a while because Joffrey refused to be sent to joust _after_ Jaime, Jon was seated with the Stark family and Benjen on a raised platform Vayon Poole and Theon had to build by hand, and Ser Jaime and Lancel Lannister, jousting on behalf of Robert Baratheon who would gladly take multiple spouses, were the first ones to vie for Jon's hand. He watched them through his boredom while Sansa talked in his ear about Lancel Lannister and how glorious he was but Jon could only see Jaime in his golden armor, everything else in the world drowned out.

     Jaime defeated Lancel easily enough and the next knight was sent in. Most of the knights and squires competing were men he had never even heard of before, jousting for lords Jon had also never heard of. At one point, a knight, a man dressed all in blue, knocked Jaime off his horse and Jon made the mistake of releasing a cry of outrage before Benjen had to forcibly sit him back down. He hadn't even realized he stood up and the exclamation was a mere few seconds but it was enough to garner the wrath of Cersei Lannister as she glared daggers at the young Lord Snow. Jaime was able to stand and go again, however, trying his hardest to hide the smirk that appeared to settle in his features after hearing Jon's voice above the crowd. No matter what he did, he could not stop grinning like a mad man, now  _knowing_ that Jon Snow was in his favor. As such, he now had a better reason to put out more of himself, steeling himself on his horse with incredible strength, a man impossible to unseat.

     The day's events had gone by fairly quickley for Jon after the first joust, much quicker than he thought, seeing as there were only so many worthy lords in Westeros, and soon enough he found himself eating at one of the many outdoor tables Poole and Theon had set up, with Jaime, Tyrion, and Benjen as his guests. 

     "So, what did you think for your first day of the tourney, Lord Snow?" Tyrion asked just as Jon stuffed a rather large bit of turkey into his mouth. Jaime and Benjen shared laughter on the matter as Jon now had to chew his food twice as fast and Tyrion waited with a look of mock patience. When Jon finished, he cleared his throat and threw down the silk cloth napkin.

     "Well, for one, I learned that it is a very bad idea to cheer on anyone in particular." Jaime choked on his food and grinned at Jon with a sidelong glance. Benjen was careful enough that the moment Jon spoke up he dropped his food back down onto his plate, bracing himself. 

     "It isn't so much that it is a bad idea, just that you don't do it around Cersei. She is... _jealous_. The woman would probably kill you in your sleep if she could." Benjen leaned in to whisper. Jon noticed that Jaime and Tyrion had neither agreed nor disagreed.

     "Lord Tyrion, do you have anyone in the tourney or are you content without?" Jon asked. Tyrion grinned and raised his brows at Jon.

     "Well, my Lord Snow, I'll have you know that there is a sellsword I have recently had knighted and his name is Bronn. Yes, he is in the tourney but fear not. He will do just as I say and he is quite skilled. I feel that if it is my idiot brother here that you want, I can arrange that." Tyrion joked, causing Jon to sputter and choke on his wine. Lady Catelyn had allowed it for the duration of the tourney as Maesters Luwin and Pycelle had told her that the wine would, in fact,  _increase_ fertility. So she had been serving the best wine to Jon at every meal, from morning to night.

     " _I_ , dear brother, am not the idiot. I feel it is our  _nephew_ we should be looking out for. I think father has well and truly tired of him, the little brat he is." Jaime said. Tyrion chuckled and threw back the rest of his wine in one gulp.

     "Which one are you referring to, brother, our father or our nephew?" Jaime grinned at him and turned to Jon for a brief moment as if he were about to say something before he instead looked at Benjen.

     "I realize you may not trust me entirely, but is there any way you could give me and the boy here as much privacy as humanly possible. I'd like to talk to him." Benjen thought for a moment before his eyes went to the stables and he smiled. 

     "I'll be right outside the stables. If you hurt him in any way, and I mean  _any_ way, I will see you hanged, you understand me?" he asked. Jaime nodded and stood, taking Jon's hand and leading him to the stables as Tyrion left to distract the Lady Stark and Benjen made his place beside the stable door, closing it after the two men.

     Once inside, Jaime turned Jon around and gently backed him up against the nearest wall. He was so close Jon could swear he felt his heartbeat. Jon's breathing picked up and he found himself panting against the warm, strong body of Jaime Lannister once the man had him pinned.

     "Do you understand what happens when we wed if I win?" He asked. Jon, whose senses had all been numbed out by the intoxicating closeness of Jaime, nodded dumbly. Jaime leaned in to whisper in his ear, voice low and husky as one of his hands found the boy's hip, nails digging in to pin him there.

     "After we wed, I fuck you in the prescence of my father and your Aunt and Uncle. King Robert will be there, as will the maesters Luwin and Pycelle. I will have to fuck you and spill my seed inside you. Then, the maesters have to examine you to ensure that there is, indeed, seed inside you. Do you understand?" Jon nodded and whined low in his throat suddenly, not expecting to hear that sound from his own throat. Jaime smirked at him and looked toward the stable doors.

     "Your uncle watches the doors but I happen to know that he is not as honorable as Lord Eddard Stark. Is there something you want from me, beautiful Snow?" Jaime asked. Jon, who had never been with anyone before, rolled his hips against Jaime's thigh and gasped when Jaime rolled back. Jaime reached the hand that was not on Jon's hip into the boy's trousers and wrapped his fingers around Jon's cock, stroking with a slow, practiced ease. Jon moaned and lay his head back against the stable wall, reaching his arms out to wrap around Jaime's neck as the man pushed closer to Jon. 

     "Please, Ser Jaime, I need-" Jon groaned as Jaime's fingers rubbed over his slit and he moved the hand from his hip, positioning them at Jon's mouth instead. 

     "I can't fuck you today, boy. They say you must be a virgin when I bed you. But there are other ways to bring pleasure to a bed partner. So, suck." Jaime said. Jon obeyed immediately and darted his tongue out to wrap around the fingers Jaime gave him, wetting them enough as he had an  _idea_ of what Jaime was about to use them for and Jon could say he was hinestly scared as he'd never had the experience before in his life. Theon had one time joked about how Ros let him do that to her and she was indignant afterwards. It took him nearly a week to convince her to come back to his bed.

     "You are so pretty, Jon Snow. I would love to have you in my bed every night. I would fuck you every night, leave you boneless and aching. This I promise you, should I win, which I will. I always do. There will be none to please or satisfy you like me." Jaime whispered into Jon's ear, causing the young man to gasp and roll his hips into the older man's thigh as he felt two of his fingers pushing at his virgin entrance. Jon dropped his head onto Jaime's shoulder and moaned, long and low, as Jaime pumped them in and out of the boy's body, stroking his cock in time with the slow slide of his fingers. 

     There was pain, there was definitely pain. He'd never done this, of course there would be pain but the feel of Jaime's experienced hand on his cock was enough to distract from the pain between his legs. It wasn't long before Jaime twisted his fingers inside of Jon and the boy threw his head back against the wall, groaning as Jaime sped up the movements of his hand on Jon. 

     "Oh,  _gods_ , this is  _sogood_. What are you-wh-what're you doing _to me_?" Jon asked in a breathless sigh. Jaime dug his fingers deeper, if possible, into Jon's entrance and jerked his cock one, two, three times and that was it for the boy. With the last stroke, Jaime leaned in and bit down on Jon's shoulder, shoving his fingers inside of him on a hard thrust and Jon was coming, spilling over Jaime's hand. The only thing that kept the boy standing was Jaime's leg pressed between his thigh, holding him against the wall as he rode out his orgasm, riding Jaime's fingers and thrusting into his hand, arms still wrapped around Jaime's neck. He now had his forehead pressed against Jaime's as the older man ground his clothed cock against Jon, lifting him and wrapping the boy's legs around his waist.

     Jon was groaning again, body flushed and heated from his orgasm as it wound down, and Jaime moved his head, pulling Jon's hair as he pressed his face into the boy's pale neck, panting and nosing at the flawless, porcelain skin there. He didn't dare bite the boy for fear of Lady Catelyn discovering it. So he ground down harder, feeling Jon grow hard again, which was the breaking point for him. He gasped and came, riding it out against the pliant body pinned between him and the wall. 

     As the two calmed down and slid to the ground, Jaime braved a glance at Jon's lap, seeing the hard, leaking cock there.

     "Well, if I can arouse you this fast, I think I have more incentive to win now. Here, let me show you something. Another first." he said, moving to lean over Jon. He heard the sharp intake of breath just before his mouth closed over Jon's cock and he hollowed out his cheeks, wrapping his tongue around the thick member and trying to drain as much pleasure as he could out of the boy. Jon was releasing these delicious, breathy noises and Jaime figured as long as he could keep them coming  he wouldn't mind spending the extra time and fraying Benjen's nerves. Surely, Benjen could hear the two from where he stood but that was why he was there, to ensure that  _nobody else_ could hear or see them.

     It didn't take Jon as long the second time around and before he knew it Jon was rolling his hips to meet Jaime's mouth and throwing his head back, moaning out, fingers pulling at the older man's hair. Jaime smirked around the boy's cock, swallowing his full load and carefully licking up any seed that he didn't get the first time. Jon fell back against the wall panting, breathless, boneless and tired, exhausted. Jaime prided himself on a job well done. If he  _did_ win, and he had every intention to, he wouldn't mind being bound to the ever so pretty Jon Snow for the rest of his life. 

     Jaime took a moment to admire Jon in his post-coital state before standing to clean them both off. He knew Lady Catelyn Stark was observant and thorough and he knew that she would smell it on Jon if Jaime wasn't thorough enough himself. 

     When he was done, Jaime knocked on the stable door and Benjen stepped in, ensuring this way that it wouldn't look so suspicious when Jaime walked out with Lord Snow. Jaime chuckled upon noticing that Jon could not even meet his uncle's eyes. Oh, he would love, indeed, to deflower this beautiful little Stark.

     It was later on in the night, when everyone had already gone off to sleep, that Jaime saw it. He had been wandering the halls of the castle of Winterfell, unable to sleep, when he heard it. No one had been allowed in the same hall as Jon's room who wasn't a stark and so it was a wild guess to Jaime but as he neared a door in the oddly abandoned hall, he heard the familiar sound, the same one from the stables earlier. 

     He peaked in through the door, for it was slightly ajar, and grinned at what he saw. 

     Jon Snow had his fingers buried in his ass and was slowly stroking his cock. He was completely naked except for the furs covering his hips, shielding the view of his cock from Jaime, unfortunately but Jaime did not complain. After all, he had the ideal view of Jon's perfect ass, and the fingers buried therein. 

     No, Jaime wasn't going to be getting any sleep tonight. Yes, he had a  _whole_ new incentive for this tourney. Perhaps now he could bed someone who wasn't so unappreciative, as Cersei had been in the weeks before the tourney, while they were still traveling along the King's Road. 

     It was the moment before Jon came, arching his back and releasing the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, that Jaime realized what he was seeing. This boy, unique in a way no human man had ever been in Westeros before, lay here prone and wholly devoted to Jaime Lannister as the victor, would be the very one Jaime would spend the rest of his days with and for the first time in his life, he could see that. He could see waking up next to Jon Snow in a warm, breezy room in King's Landing, flooded with the light of the early morning Southern sun, and making love to him, sweet and slow like he and Cersei used to, before she lost her way. He could hear the soft whispers of love and see the children skipping through the halls of the castle, crawling all over Jon hanging all over Jaime. As much as this would have disgusted him when he arrived in Winterfell,  he had never counted on falling in love with the boy. At the moment, he didn't believe he was in love, nothing so serious about all this, merely that he could  _see_ a future with Jon Snow. Perhaps the future would hold great things for them, perhaps Jon would leave Winterfell with another, travel to a different city, a different town, somewhere away from Jaime where the boy could forget all about him.

     The last thought Jaime had before he fell asleep concerned how ridiculous he was but how he might be able to let go of his affair with Cersei and move on to something real, not have to hide anymore. He might be able to  _love_ someone openly, and not meet in dark rooms and have brief trysts that never meant anything beyond the bed. 

     ' _Tomorrow,_ ' he thought. ' _Tomorrow I'll talk to Tyrion and see. I'll talk to Tyrion and make my choice. Tomorrow_.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...didn't really like the end of this chapter. Let me know what you think? If anything needs to be changed? I don't know. I feel like Jaime Lannister is a really hard guy to get just right, emotionally speaking. 
> 
> So...It will calm down in the next chapter. Sorry if this one sucked, guys. 
> 
> As always, constructive criticism and legit corrections are welcome, too. Thanks!


	4. The Lure of Targaryen Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So...new chapter. Sorry about the mixed up notices about when I'd post it. It's been a crazy week. 
> 
> I figured it was time for a bit of perspective change to ease the flow of the story. So...reviews, comments, suggestions, corrections, etc. Let me know, guys. I'm all ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think of this one, alright? It was kind of a pain to write. 
> 
> Also, sorry about all the mixed up notices about when I'd post it. Super sorry guys.

The water was hot enough to burn, the steam rolling off the surface in translucent tendrils that caused a light sweat to break out over Viserys' chest as he stood over the bath. 

It was on this day that Viserys Targaryen, exiled prince of the House Targaryen, was to meet his future husband. The Dothraki Khal Drogo was to wed one of the two remaining Targaryens, that being Viserys or his younger sister Danaerys, and the choice had been easy enough. 

Dany was still too young, in Versys' opinion, and he would not wish to put her in that position. So he had appointed himself to the marry the barbarian who was incapable of even speaking two words of the common tongue, according to Magister Illyrio. Apparently, the only common word Khal Drogo had learned was 'no'. Illyrio had told Viserys that he could teach the Khal how to speak the common tongue and that Viserys would have handmaidens to teach him the Dothraki language.

Viserys came to the resolution that the dragon blood had several very interesting effects on him. The first was proven. He had stepped into the bath after stripping down, ignoring the pleas of the alarmed servant, and settled himself in the water up to his neck. He remained unaffected by the heat. The second was only in theory.

Magister Illyrio had said that the ancient Targaryens, male and female alike, had strangely been able to carry children when bred with the right partner. Illyrio had told Viserys that, from what he knew of the man, Khal Drogo could be one such partner. Viserys nervously asked him what would happen if he could not produce a child and Illyrio's response was one of reassurance. He said that with the right partner, the seed would take root and his body could not refuse it. 

It was after his bath that Viserys met Ser Jorah, who had already seemed to take to Danaerys. Viserys was cautious and requested that Illyrio give Dany a guard or two. Illyrio agreed, though he explained who Ser Jorah was to Viserys. 

When Viserys was ready to meet this Khal Drogo, dressed in white robes of the finest silk with the Targaryen family crest in silver on the left side of his chest, just over his heart, he stood on the step of Illyrio's estate, along with Illyrio, Dany, and Ser Jorah, who had openly pledged his sword to Viserys' service after explaining what Illyrio had not.

“Will he be late, do you think?” Viserys asked as he gave Dany a concerned sidelong glance, who was laughing behind her hand at something Ser Jorah had said. Illyrio followed his gaze but smiled nevertheless. 

“The Dothraki are not known for their punctuality. He will be here.” he said calmly. Viserys rolled his shoulders and frowned but otherwise ignored his discomfort and tried to hide it from Dany. He had to be strong for her as he was a leader to her, the last man of the House Targaryen as he knew. 

It was an hour of standing on Illyrio's steps, twitching, fidgeting, and sighing under the hot sun before the sound of horses reached their ears. 

“Is that them?” Viserys asked, perking up. Illyrio nodded and stepped off the platform to greet their guests just as they rode into the view on their horses. 

Illyrio greeted them in Dothraki and introduced Viserys, the intended, to Khal Drogo. It was a short, quiet, and tense affair and the Khal and his warriors rode off just as in the same fashion they arrived. Viserys was understandably confused. 

Illyrio told him the Khal seemed very pleased, even though he only subtly showed it, and the marriage ceremony was held not a month later. 

Illyrio told Viserys that a Dothraki wedding without at least three deaths was a dull affair. There were twelve dead by the end of the ceremony, marking this as a very good wedding indeed. 

Viserys was wearing a set of velvet blood red robes Illyrio had gifted him with, saying it would compliment his fair hair and skin and would please the Khal, further. He was sweating profusely beneath the robes and breathing hard, partly due to the shock he underwent every time someone was disemboweled or had their throat ripped out or took a dull blade to their heart. 

Khal Drogo sat away from Viserys with his Khalasar while all the gifts were passed on to Viserys. Ser Jorah gave him books written in the common tongue. Viserys was very appreciative. When Illyrio gave him a box of three dragon eggs, Viserys' breath hitched and his heart stopped for a moment. 

“Thank you, Illyrio. They're...beautiful. Thank you.” Viserys reached a tentative hand out to touch them. Illyrio smiled warmly. 

“The ages have turned them to stone but their beauty remains.” he replied. 

After this, the dancing stopped as Khal Drogo stood and gathered Viserys, leading him through the crowd to a horse, more specifically a beautiful gray mare. Viserys was in awe. When he turned to Illyrio with question in his eyes, Illyrio understood. 

“They do not name their horses. They are known by their colors, their attributes. This is Khal Drogo's gift to you. By giving you this, he is acknowledging you as his and giving the sign for the end of the wedding. You'll go with him now to consummate the marriage.” Illyrio gave Viserys an apologetic look as Khal Drogo placed his strong hands on Viserys' slender hips and lifted him onto the horse. Viserys let out a loud gasp as he gazed down at his sister, Ser Jorah, and Illyrio, uncertain and suddenly fearful. Danaerys placed her hand on Viserys' exposed thigh and stroked her thumb across the fair skin comfortingly. 

“It'll be okay, Viserys. I'll be here when you get back. I promise.” She whispered softly, her eyes meeting his, bright and full of concern and love. 

Khal Drogo led the horse by the reigns away, leaving the Khalasar and guests behind. 

When Khal Drogo had found his way to a cliff, secure enough in its own right from prying eyes, he gently helped Viserys down from the horse. 

Viserys released a startled grunt at this and stood awkwardly next to his mare while Drogo tied the reigns to a nearby rock. 

“What are you doing?” Viserys asked, pulling at the overbearing velvet red robes uneasily. He cursed the robes and wished he could rip them off. Khal Drogo stared at him, blank and curious. He moved toward Viserys, who backed away on instinct.

He bowed his head in apology and fingered his hair as Drogo pulled at Viserys' robes. He kept his eyes on Viserys' face the entire time as he ripped the fabric of the robes as if the material offended him and he let the robes to the dirt beneath Viserys' bare feet. He looked the new Khaleesi up and down as Viserys stood naked, shivering in the fading sun and covered in a thin layer of sweat. 

Khal Drogo ran his fingers through the delicate waves of Viserys' pale hair, one hand finding Viserys' slender hip. Illyrio had told Viserys that if he complied with Khal Drogo things would go much smoother for him. So Viserys resolved not to put up a fight with his new husband, though this did nothing to dissipate his fear and the tension coursing through his body.

When Drogo maneuvered Viserys' body down onto his hands and knees, Viserys sucked in a deep breath, full aware of what would happen. Khal Drogo mounted his Khaleesi and gave no thought to discomfort or pain as he took and claimed and pushed the smaller body under him lower to the ground still. Afterwords, Viserys was sore and bleeding and limping as Drogo led his Khaleesi to the horse. Viserys tried, in vain, not to cry on the slow ride back to the camp. 

When they arrived, Dany and Ser Jorah were there to help Viserys down and into his tent, the one Danaerys belonged in with Viserys' handmaidens and Ser Jorah. 

Danaerys, Ser Jorah, and Jaqui, one of Viserys' handmaidens, took care of the snowy haired Khaleesi over the next few weeks. Between the Khalasar moving camp and Khal Drogo demanding more of Viserys' body and Jaqui teaching Viserys the Dothraki language, Viserys teaching Khal Drogo the common tongue in turn, there was plenty to occupy Viserys' mind and time as they slowly but surely moved their way through the fields of wheat that brought Viserys peace on their way to the Dothraki city of Vaes Dothrak. 

It was one morning, when Viserys was curled up on his side in his and the Khal's tent with Khal Drogo, that he felt it. A tight knot in his chest that lasted only a few moments before he was gasping and clutching at his body. Khal Drogo was not awake and Viserys remembered what Illyrio had said about the dragon blood and having the right partner. This...this thought terrified him more than the traveling, the violence of the Khalasar, and the news he heard from Westeros on occasion. 

Viserys Targaryen knew full well that he could be with child but resolved not to say anything to Danaerys yet. He would wait it out and first go to Ser Jorah. For now, Viserys breathed in deep and settled down, cross legged, next to Khal Drogo, trying to ease his way into the morning.

And when Khal Drogo's eyes opened and he greeted Viserys in the common tongue, it was settled. Viserys started to form a plan in his mind, a plan for his Khal, their Khalasar, and for the House Targaryen.


	5. The Promise of A Marriage Fulfilled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final stage of the tourney is here. Jaime comes to a revelation, the victor is crowned, and Jon contemplates. Sorry it's a short chapter but I've got three other ongoing stories I need to update, as well.
> 
> As usual, guys, comment, review, suggest, correct, leave kudos, etc. I'm open for everything but hate. So yeah. Have fun with it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may not have pointed this out at all on the story but this is an au where Joffrey is NOT Jaime's son. However, Jaime and Cersei did still sleep together.

When Jon Snow was a child, the idea of marriage had always seemed so... _foreign_ to him, something he wanted to know more about. 

He would watch his uncle and aunt flutter around Winterfell, taking care of things and dance around each other with bright smiles and warm laughter, making the frigid Northern hold a little less... _frigid_.

The thought that one day he, too, would share a union like this with someone, that he'd have to choose a wife and take her to bed and get her with child, frightened him to his core, terrified him, if only because he was a child and did not understand the full implications of marriage at the time.

Nevertheless, he started watching the young girls around Winterfell, girls his age, for a suitable future wife. With the belief that he found one when he was nine years old, he broached the subject with his uncle one day at the noon feast, after visiting his mother's tomb in the crypts. 

That was when Lord Eddard Stark introduced Jon to the truth of the effects of Targaryen blood and Jon found himself on the opposite side of the inevitable marriage bed. Long gone were the days when eh could wander the wide open spaces outside the walls of Winterfell. No more could he climb the broken tower, warning Bran against doing the same, and sit on the roof, staring out over the fort and playing with a crown of winter roses Sansa had braided for him in a moment of familial admiration.

Even still, Lady Catelyn had insisted he be given relative freedom within the confines of Winterfell. Ned had agreed and had tasked Ser Rodrik, Ser Jory, and Theon with the overseeing of Jon throughout his comings and goings in the day... _and_ night. Jon would not _be_ a Targaryen if he was not as curious as Targaryen blood urged.

Ser Rodrik and Jory were fairly patient but Theon, for all his lack of redeeming qualities, was busy licking his wounds from his dealings with Ros and his interactions with Lord Stark in the execution of runaways from Castle Black. He had yet to grow up.

As Jon grew older and matured, fully understanding the implications of sexual nature and the act itself, he confided in Lady Catelyn, going to her when he felt that familiar heat in his body, running through the halls with his hands cupped over his groin.

The way the lady handled it as a mother reassured him, chasing away all embarrassment and shame. She sent Lord Stark to talk to him and he learned to handle it on his own. 

By the time Jon reached his maturity and the tourney was announced, he had learned how to talk to people, act around people, and deal with his own, _personal_ problems by himself. Catelyn taught him the importance of time and place and Ned had taught him the importance of politics. Robb and Ser Rodrik taught him how to fight, Sansa taught him how to submit and sway others with his personality, beauty, and innocence. Arya taught him how to stay true to himself and Bran and Rickon taught him how to see through the eyes of a child, eyes that never miss a thing. This all proved to be _very_ useful when it came to the tourney.

Once the jousting was over, Jaime the victor as was to be expected, the rest of it went by quickly. They held the Behourd after a three day hiatus of events, and Joffrey won that for his brutality and stubbornness. When they got to the end of the tourney, to the single combat melee, Jon's nerves were alight with fear. 

The man who won in the end would be his husband and would require he leave all his family and everything he knew to go back to an unfamiliar home where he would answer whatever command his Lord husband gave him, no matter the cruelty, for the rest of his life. It was this reason he sat in fear upon his seat, upon the dais, frantically looking for Jaime anywhere.

“You see, my son would be a good one for your little lord there. He'd take good care of him, I promise you that.” Lord Mace Tyrell had said to Benjen across the dais. Jon could hear every conversation around him, even those who were whispering with the intent of not being heard. He wondered if this was an effect of Targaryen blood, as well.

“I say Lord Tyrion wins. That Bronn is a mighty man, they say. Either way, young Jon Snow would still be a Lannister. That or The Hound. Then he'd be married to Robert Baratheon.” Jon heard Margaery Tyrell say this to Lancell Lannister, who'd been withdrawn from the tournament by non other than King Baratheon himself.

“Personally, I'd rather _none_ of the Lannisters win. The last thing Ned needs is for Jon to be married off to that... _corrupt filth_.” Lysa Tully whispered to her husband, Jon Arryn. He nodded solemnly in agreement, even though he was the hand of the king.

“Aunt Catelyn, what else does the Targaryen blood do? Does it make you hear better?” Jon asked, leaning in to Lady Stark's space. She looked at him curiously.

“Why do you ask, boy?” 

“Well, I can hear every conversation on the dais with us.” he whispered.

“Oh, well...it can but don't be worried, child. Targaryen blood can do many things but you must _not_ let their conversations bother you. Ignore them, Jon.” She said, reaching down and squeezing his hand fro comfort.

 

“Relax, brother. You will do well. Besides, was it not but eleven days ago talked about this very thing? You are in love with the boy, Jaime. You must face it. You even said it yourself. You told me, and I quote, ' _Tyrion, I think I'm falling in love with him. I could leave Cersei and the whores and everyone behind if just to wake up to his pretty face every morning for the rest of my life._ ' And you said all of that _after_ the jousting, Jaime. After we had already been here for two weeks.” Tyrion smirked up at his brother, who was sitting behind the dais preparing for his fight against Joffrey, completely unaware of the fact that Jon was very subtly listening to them from his seat between Catelyn and Ned. 

“This is true.” said Jaime, giving Tyrion an exasperated sidelong glance, pulling his gloves on. 

“However, Cersei does not yet know this so keep this information to yourself. The last thing I need is for her to take her anger out on my betrothed. You understand, Tyrion?” Jaime demanded. Tyrion nodded with a grunt just as a bloodied and beaten Sandor stepped behind the dais to fetch Jaime for his fight.

“It's you and your nephew now. Have fun with that one. I hear he's been worked up like a wild animal since the Behourd.” he said, a slight smirk on his face.

“Yes, very funny, Sandor. I'm sure Joffrey will be worthy competition, all childish ninety pounds of him. So much hard competition.” Tyrion muttered sarcastically. Sandor scoffed and glared at the imp.

“Yes, well. It is time for me to go ahead and impress my future betrothed. I'll see you when I see you.” Jaime said, mock bowing as he proceeded to the fight.

He avoided Jon's eyes as he went, wanting to prevent another outburst from the excitable youth. Had he looked, he would have seen the murderous glare Jon had leveled at Joffrey, a look of such pure hatred that Jaime thought for a moment it could kill Joffrey. Perhaps Targaryen blood had the power to make people burst into flames. 

“Well, nephew, do you think you'll see the marriage of Jon Snow? Think you'll be the one to bed him? What are you going to do with him?” he asked when he and his nephew were face to face, swords in hand.

“I _will_ bed him and I'll breed him strong. Our sons will be warriors.” Joffrey replied, standing tall and proud.

“And your daughters?” Jaime questioned with a smirk. Joffrey screamed and lunged at his uncle, swinging his sword frantically.

“Well, at least what you lack in coordination you more than make up for with raw anger. The key is to _channel_ that anger, dearest nephew.” Jaime said as he weaved and dodged Joffrey's wild flailing.

“Nephew, you are like a man undone. Be _careful_.” Jaime cautioned, his voice only slightly concerned. 

“I _am_ strong!” Joffrey shouted.

In the stands, Tywin Lannister shook his head and hid his eyes in disgrace. His grandson had no strategy at all. His son, on the other hand, used Joffrey's own reckless anger against him.

“So, you have no strategy, dearest nephew. You will keep swinging your sword until you hit something. Maybe you'll even hit yourself. That is...an interesting way to go about it.” Jaime said, grinning as he stepped out of Joffrey's reach again and stood, observing his nephew like the boy was a wild animal.

“Argh! Stop patronizing me! I _will_ have Jon Snow and he will bear me sons and _only_ sons.” Joffrey growled.

“And if he does not? If he bears you a daughter on accident because he could not _possibly_ control his pregnancy in such a way?” Jaime asked incredulously.

“Then I will beat him until he _does_ bear me a son and I will kill the female.” Jaime rolled his eyes.

“Ah yes, because _beating_ your spouse will effectively help them in their pregnancy. That's the way to do it. That's why you see men just _running_ to beat down the pregnant women in the streets of King's Landing on any given day. You're an idiot.” Jaime argued, glaring at his nephew and letting his anger get the best of him.

In the end, Joffrey spoke too brashly and Jaime struck him down with a single blow to the boy's breastplate. The people cheered and Jon tried hard not to look too smug when Joffrey passed by, limping and seething.

After this, there were other competitors, the final pair being Jaime and Bronn. It was a close match but all it took was one look from Jon to Tyrion, from Tyrion to Bronn, and it was over. Jaime won, shaken by how close he had been to losing, though it wasn't at the prospect of losing Jon because he _knew_ Tyrion would take care of him and he would not forbid Jaime from the boy's bed.

No, it was rather at the thought of how he could _let_ himself lose, how he could _let_ Jon down after he had promised him he would win for him. 

So, the tourney was finally over. Jaime was the victor, as most had suspected, and Jon had his betrothed chosen for him. They would plan the wedding ceremony and bedding later. 

Now, it was time to celebrate the victory.


	6. Even In Death There Is Still Life (The Sighting of Lyanna Stark)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This IS a chapter but it's short. Like...author's note short. It's more of an interlude, really. But...it's very important because it marks the arrival of Lyanna Stark. So, this is a filler. I should have something else up within a few days. Hopefully. Things are going to start getting buys again pretty soon and I've also got three other ongoing stories so hopefully I should have this up soon. 
> 
> Anywho, leave comments, suggestions, reviews, corrections, kudos, etc. Let me know how I am doing and what I need to do. Thanks for reading. Enjoy!

Benjen was exhausted. He had spent the last two hours taking Ros apart little by little and now he was exhausted. Standing in the crypts, staring over his sister's statue, was the last thing he had wanted to do. And yet...here he was.

After he and Ros had fallen asleep together, something the woman did not often allow with her bed companions, he had dreamed. He had dreamed of Lyanna and her crown of winter roses and Rhaegar and the whole Targaryen line. It had ended when he distinctly heard Rhaegar's voice, filled with the rage of battle, urging him to wake up. So he did and now here he found himself, wondering what force brought him to his older sister's tomb. His thoughts were consumed by the loss and the guilt and the memories of his sister, his heart numb and cold in his chest, tears in his eyes.

“Why did you leave, Benjen?” he whipped around at the voice and stared in awe at the sight before him, finding himself weak before his sister, his whole body taken with his nerves.

“No, it's not possible. You're-you died. You can't be here, you died.” he whispered in unbelief, reaching his trembling hands out to her.

“One would think. Ah, but this world holds _so_ much magic, beloved little brother, and even in death there is still life.” Lyanna smiled warmly down at him, her skin fair and her cheeks rosy, no longer the gray pallor Benjen had seen when her lifeless body was brought back to Winterfell all those years ago.

Her eyes blazed with life and she was naked, her long, dark curls cascading over bare shoulders and chest. Her long lashes, her full lips, her slender fingers and delicate, lithe figure. She was just as beautiful as Benjen remembered. He hesitated, opening his mouth as if to say something, looking around the crypt in bewilderment, before taking a step towards his sister.

“Here. You must be so cold.” he said quietly, remembering where they were and taking off his fur-lined cloak to wrap it around Lyanna. She nodded appreciatively.

“He's alive, too, you know. Rhaegar.” she said, cocking her head at Benjen's inquisitive look.

“He's alive but he's where they left his body, the poor thing. We have to find him, Benjen. He'll be wandering naked through the wilderness.” she informed him, her voice the same soft and clear noise he remembered. Benjen considered her for a moment, how he was going to tell anyone else about this or if he was going to hide Lyanna...for now, considering the events surrounding Jon Snow. Then he remembered a question that had been burning in the back of his mind.

“Is there anyone else? Any Targaryens?” he asked nervously.

“Oh yes. Two. In Essos. Viserys and Danaerys Targaryen.”

 _Oh._ That wasn't...exactly positive news for Ned. Then he remembered the sigil of the house Targaryen.

“So...dragons? Are they really alive? Do they...really exist?” he asked, dreading the answer. Lyanna nodded cheerily.

“Aye.” A simple answer, and all that he needed to hear to confirm his worst fears.

 _Oh_.


	7. Virtues & Vices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So...in this chapter, Jon comes to terms with what it really means to be sold in marriage and Lyanna and Benjen talk, Benjen talks to Melisandre, and we find out why and how Lyanna (and Rhaegar) is brought back from the dead. 
> 
> Also, in the next chapter I will be focusing solely on Viserys and there will be a little Au in that one. The chapter after that I will be introducing Gendry and Arya will decide whether she stays in Winterfell or goes with Jon. So...remember, suggestions make my world go round, comments, constructive criticism, etc. Thanks for reading, guys. I hope you enjoy!

The first thing Jon did upon Jaime's victory in the tournament was take Catelyn back to his chambers so he could dress while Tywin Lannister busied himself with presenting Jaime with his traditional ' _you have a responsibility and obligation now_ ' speech. Then he would move on to talking with Jon about ' _the tasks of a dutiful wife and mother_ ', seeing as he was so keen for Jaime to get Jon with child. 

Lysa warned Jon that the next few weeks would be all business and settling in for him, that is...if he was meant to leave with the king's household immediately. When a jumpy Benjen, accompanied by a hooded woman who refused to show her face, wearing nothing but his cloak it would seem, had fleetingly suggested that the king meant for Jaime and Tyrion, at least, to stay in Winterfell one year before he departed, all the eyes of the Stark house found themselves trained on the king, discussing the matter at hand with Ned by the sparring courtyard. Then Benjen fled with the woman.

“Who _was_ that woman?” Arya asked, tugging on Robb's sleeve.

“Probably another whore.”Theon snapped. Robb glared at the steward and ruffled Arya's hair playfully. Theon was just bitter about losing Ros to Benjen.

“Uncle Benjen just has a lot of friends, is all. She's probably one of them.” He explained, shooting a deadly warning glare at Theon before the ward said anything else. The fixed gaze of the red haired woman accompanying Stannis Baratheon as they passed by, leveled at the mystery woman with some strange intent, did _not_ escape Robb, however.

 

“What am I supposed to wear? Tyrion said the first victory mean should be...best dress. What do I even have to wear, aunt Catelyn?” Jon complained, falling onto his bed with a miserable sigh, two sets of robes in either hand.

“The white one, obviously. It is a sign of your purity, and you _are_ pure. Tywin, at least, would demand it.” 

“But then there is the red. Isn't that Lannister color? Wouldn't that one be better?” Jon asked. Catelyn smiled down at her nephew endearingly.

“They would think that you are trying too hard. When you go to King's Landing you will need to learn how to play their game. I expect your husband and Lord Tyrion will help you with that. However, it often works best when subtle. Just watch those around you, Jon. Learn their strengths and weaknesses, their virtues and vices. Let Jaime and Tyrion guide you.” Catelyn spoke softly, stepping toward the bed and brushing her fingers through Jon's unkempt locks. 

“Such a complicated world. Why must everything be so difficult?” He asked with an exasperated sigh. Catelyn smiled miserably at him and sat down on the bed beside Jon.

“Such is the way of the world. We must simply learn how to live with what we are given, Jon.” She responded sagely.

“Wise words from a wise woman.” Jon replied, grinning at the Lady Stark.

“I am not wise, Jon, merely learned. In time, you will know the difference, my dear boy.” 

“In time when I am married to Jaime Lannister, when I am bearing his children, when Cersei Lannister is trying to kill me on a nightly basis, when I've devised at least one person's death like a true Lannister. Oh gods...I'm leaving. I'm being sold off in marriage to a Lannister and I'm leaving Winterfell forever. I'll live in King's Landing where I'll be so alone and and-”

“Jon Snow, hush! Calm down, child. There, now. Every child of noble birth has to marry and leave home at some point. Your time will come when you lose your purity to Jaime Lannister but it is nothing to be ashamed of. Your uncle Lord Eddard says that the only time a man can be brave is when he is in fear. Your fear does not have to rule you. To be with your betrothed on the night of the ceremony, the bedding, can be a wonderful thing if you let it.” Catelyn explained, holding Jon's trembling hands and looking him straight in the eyes.

“On the night of your bedding you will be laid down and made love to by Ser Jaime Lannister, the hand of the king. If I know anything about Ser Jaime it is that he is a just man with those placed under his care and he will defend you with his life. You will be his bride and he will protect you. After all, you're bearing his children. The babes he gets from you will mean more to him than the dishonorable union that brought him babes from Cersei. I _have_ spent the last few days in his company and Lord Tyrion's. You will be fine, Jon. Besides, your uncle Benjen will be going with you, as your personal guard.” Jon furrowed his brow, confused by this news.

“But uncle Ben belongs to the wall. He is a crow now. He took the vows.” He replied slowly.

“Yes, and your uncle as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North has _released_ him from such vows. It is something he had hoped to tell you himself at the feast. Just pretend you didn't know. Act surprised for him. He'll glare me to death otherwise.” Catelyn joked.

“Impossible, Lady Stark. Nothing can kill you.” Catelyn's smile softened at Jon's words.

“All men die, Jon Snow. No one is immortal.” 

“Yes, aunt Catelyn, but you are not a man.” 

 

“So, you've been relieved of your vows. My, little brother. What a relief. Now we can finally run away together and elope. We'll be just like the Lannisters. Won't Ned be surprised? Oh, wait. That's right. He doesn't even know I exist. As far as he is concerned, I am still dead, buried in the ground from birthing a child I _still_ have not met.” Lyanna was angry. She was furious. Benjen could see that much, regardless of how blank her face was.

“Lyanna, I am sorry. I told you I must approach the matter... _delicately_. After all, the hundreds of people out there are convinced you are dead, have been for the last seventeen years. How in the seven hells am I supposed to explain this to them?” 

“By bringing me out of the darkness and into the light, little brother. Show me to them and they cannot possibly deny that I live. They won't need an explanation. It could be dragon magic, for all they care.” 

Benjen shook his head, frustrated, at the suggestion, as he paced his chamber, glancing out the window and looking down upon the sparring courtyard where there was a raucous celebration being held by the commoners of Winterfell before the great feast. 

Benjen knew that if he brought Lyanna to the people then Robert Baratheon, who was not as foolish as everyone thought him to be, would assume that Rhaegar Targaryen was alive, as well, and that he would send all of his best men to hunt the man down and kill him. He also knew that Lyanna would fight to her dying breath to defend him. This would start a war, the last thing anyone needed at the moment, especially Jon.

“Listen, Lyanna.” Benjen snapped, whipping around to face his sister.

“Listen, I need you to stay here for me, alright? I'm going to see the red woman, Melisandre. She serves Stannis Baratheon-”

“In more ways than one, apparently.” Lyanna muttered, rolling her eyes at Benjen.

“Seriously, Lyanna. I need you to stay here until I return. If Robert Baratheon reacts badly to this and you prance in carelessly like you always do, I could be killed. It could start a war and this would be all your fault.”

“You always did say I would be the death of you. Alright, fine. I'll stay here if it pleases you. Tch! Men are so demanding.” Benjen frowned but ruffled his sister's hair nevertheless, rushing from the room in search of the red woman.

 

He found her by the blacksmith, staring at Stannis as he spoke with one of his own men, some lowborn who called himself Davos. He had wasted no time in roughly pulling her aside, demanding answers of her.

“So...dragon magic? You're sure? So, you're saying that a rare and powerful form of dragon magic, triggered by the Targaryen blood of Jon Snow, brought Lyanna Stark and possibly Rhaegar Targaryen back to life?” Benjen asked, glaring at her incredulously. She nodded softly and spoke even softer.

“Indeed. He is far more special than anyone realizes. A true dragon, like Lord Snow, is a rare thing, Benjen Stark. He is no mere man like you or I. His blood possesses abilities beyond what we can fathom. Some, we haven't witnessed yet. Others, we may have never even heard of. You can understand the full power of the boy. Nor can he.” 

“How do you propose I tell the Lord Stark and King Baratheon this, _Melisandre_?” Benjen demanded angrily. He'd be damned if he was going to endanger his nephew and sister, much less the whole Stark house.

“I will help. There are... _ways_ ...to prove this to a man. I will prove to them and they will believe. It is up to _you_ to douse the flames of their wrath once they have had the revelation, Benjen Stark. This will not be easy.” She warned, eyes flitting to Stannis momentarily.

“Nothing ever _is_ in Westeros, is it?”


	8. Viserys Targaryen, Dragon Prince, Khaleesi, and Conqueror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So...this chapter is way AU. Just remember that this is what the story is. It is AU. Let me know what you think of it. I hope you enjoy it. Suggestions, reviews, comments, constructive criticism is always welcome. Thanks and enjoy, guys!

In the five months since his marriage to Khal Drogo, Viserys Targaryen had discovered many things about himself. The first was his gift with languages. He was already fluent in Old Valyrian and had learned Dothraki quickly under the thorough and patient instruction of Jaqui. 

He also had a rare gift with the bow and arrow, as demonstrated under his own husband's teaching. He had bested every Bloodrider in the Khalasar at archery after Dany had convinced her brother to take on the warriors and at least prove himself with a long range weapon. 

He was also a natural born leader. Ser Jorah became Viserys' personal advisor and taught him the ways of strategy, both on and off the battlefield, warfare, and negotiation. He spoke where Khal Drogo and his warriors would have only slaughtered without question or hesitation. There were many small towns scattered between Pentos and Vaes Dothrak that Viserys had saved through his words alone, unarmed but flanked by his husband, Ser Jorah, Danaerys, and surrounded by his Khalasar. 

He was also gentle, almost timid when he was alone with his husband, Danaerys, Ser Jorah, or any of his handmaidens. They were his strength and he trusted them more than anyone.

In the three months since Viserys had been presented with child, since Khal Drogo's seed had taken root, the atmosphere between Khal and Khaleesi had changed. It had turned into something deeper, heated, more intimate yet savage all the same. Sometimes, when they were alone together, Khal Drogo would just hold his Khaleesi, kissing along Viserys' neck or sucking marks into his skin, whispering promises that Viserys feared would never come to be in to his ear, his hand stroking possessively over Viserys' stomach.

Most times they would make love, Viserys riding Khal Drogo, his neck tilted, throat exposed, fingers laced with Drogo's on the Khaleesi's own slender hips. 

It was during these moments that the whole Khalasar became aware of the Khal and his Khaleesi, hearing the pleased sounds spilling from Viserys' lips loudly. Danaerys was the only one who had enough decency to be embarrassed about it. 

It seemed that with the pregnancy, Viserys was needier, more wanton, outright demanding his Khal, even in the presence of the Khalasar. Many of them would make jokes that the Khal needed to ' _breed the bitch_ ' but Viserys never took offense. Coming from his Khalasar, that was a compliment. It was a term of endearment, their way of expressing their friendship, trust, and respect.

In those times, Viserys would push Khal Drogo to the dirt and settle in his lap, grinding down against him, ready to be fucked then and there before the eyes and ears of the rest of the Khalasar. Of course, Khal Drogo was possessive of the silver haired Targaryen and would lift the slender man in his arms as he stood himself up, carrying the Khaleesi to their tent, where he would push Viserys onto the bed, mounting him, and fucking him until he had no energy left to brace himself beneath the Khal. Then they would fall asleep together, and wake up the next morning with wild hair, bruises, and scratch marks.

It was one such morning, Viserys had still been trying to pull the knots out of his hair when he had stumbled out of his tent around noon, that the Khalasar finally reached Vaes Dothrak, Viserys riding horseback on his silver mare and wincing with each step the horse took. Khal Drogo had been particularly rough the night before.

“Viserys, have you ever seen anything more beautiful? It's just like Pentos.” Danaerys said, her horse toeing alongside her brothers. 

“Please, Dany. Look at this place. Pentos could never compare.” Viserys responded, eyes eagerly taking in the city. It was a vast field as far as the eye could see of tents, wooden lodges, and small stone buildings, free of walls or gates, the bright colors of merchant banners and shops swallowing the red dust of the ground stretching miles before them. 

The women were pretty, their dark skin and braided hair and gold and white adornment. Viserys was, however, focused solely on Khal Drogo and his look of pure, deep satisfaction as if he had been refreshed from a long journey just by setting eyes on the city. 

“Khaleesi, here you will have fresh fruit, a hot bath, and clean garments, at last. It is a relief from the road but there is so much to see here. The other Khaleesi's and Khal's of other Khalasar's live here, their Bloodriders, as well. It is your move, Khaleesi.” Ser Jorah remarked, drawing his horse up next to Viserys.

“My first move, Ser Jorah, will be to take a nice hot bath with my Khal, roll around in fine silk sheets, _also_ with my Khal, then a full meal for myself and my child. What do you think?” Viserys asked, brushing his dirtied hair behind his shoulders. Ser Jorah smiled, sitting higher in his saddle as they approached the center of the city.

“So, what will you name this child of yours?” he asked, getting off his horse as the Khalasar reached a large, colorful tent, almost big enough to be a small castle. This one belonged to Khal Drogo and his Khaleesi. 

Viserys followed Ser Jorah, lightly leaping off his horse and handing the reins to Doreah, the handmaiden Magister Illyrio had provided him. 

“I, uh, I think I'll call him Rhaego. It's a mixture of Rhaegar and Drogo.” he stated, staring at the large tent he and his Khalasar would be staying in. 

Ser Jorah merely nodded in answer and led the Khaleesi inside, Khal Drogo and Danaerys behind them. Viserys turned to look as he stepped through the opening of the tent, seeing Khal Drogo engaged in a very light hearted conversation with Khal Drogo. She had him laughing and when he looked up and caught Viserys' eyes, the look there was heated, the same look he wore just before he mounted the Targaryen and bred him. Viserys smiled back at him and shivered, turning to hear something Ser Jorah had been saying to him. 

Over the next few days, Viserys busied himself with visiting the marketplace, buying garments, jewels, weapons, and armor for the journey after Vaes Dothrak, as well as gifts for Danaerys. Each time he went to the market, he was attended by three of his Bloodriders, two that he had never really acquainted himself with and then Rakharo, one of the best Bloodriders, closest to Khal Drogo, besides Qotho.

On the day that Khal Drogo had busied himself hunting outside of the city, in the hills surrounding, and could only spare Rakharo for his Khaleesi, Viserys found himself enamored by a beautiful bronze and ruby necklace, something he thought Danaerys would surely love. He had engaged with the shopkeeper in conversation as Rakharo looked around, eyes grazing over the crowded streets, sweeping over the masses, doing what he could to protect the Khaleesi. He had just taken a few steps away, looking in the opposite direction, when he heard a noise, turning to see that Viserys was nowhere in sight. He cursed himself and looked around before he whipped his head around, noticing the shopkeeper was also suspiciously gone. So he made his way into the back alley behind the shop, pushing himself in desperate search of the Khaleesi. One moment, he had turned his head for one moment, and his Khaleesi was gone. 

The people around the city clamored all over, the alleyways surprisingly busy and full, and he turned a corner, starting to panic in fear that he might have to return to the Khalasar and tell Khal Drogo that he lost their Khaleesi, when he saw it. The man, faceless and hooded in black robes, was carrying a struggling captive into a cryptic short stone building, a flash of silver hair catching Rakharo's eyes. That alley was abandoned, lifeless, filled only by the noise of the surrounding shops and merchants. So Rakharo followed, desperate.

Inside the building, he found only a single bed, a dark wooden wardrobe, a worn chest at the foot of the bed, and a doorway leading off to another room. Rakharo went for the doorway. He approached slowly, carefully, and stopped in the doorway. 

Inside the room there was a small pool in the sandy floor, a table pushed into a niche off to the side of the room, candles all around the pool. The hooded man was standing in the center the pool, Viserys laying unconscious, turned on to his side, on the red sandy floor before the water, only the long, fine, veil of the white cloth around his waist dipping into the water. He was breathing and he seemed unharmed. The man in the pool, however, was breathing hard, his gaze fixed intensely upon Rakharo. Rakharo leveled him with a glare of his own, setting his shoulders and unsheathing the knife at his thigh. One way or another, he would get the Khaleesi back.

 

Viserys awoke with a whimper, twisting around to find himself on the bed in his and Khal Drogo's room in their tent, and seeing Khal Drogo, his fierce and passionate Khal Drogo, seated asleep on the floor, his back pressed against the wall. He looked as if he had waited by Viserys' bedside for a long time before giving in to sleep. 

The sun was high and the sound of a busy marketplace filtered in through the open window. Viserys stretched and yawned, sighing in a mixture of exasperation and relief as he tried to remember what had happened. The last thing he remembered was looking at the necklace for Danaerys, hearing the voice of a small child call out his name, and then... _nothing_. He just couldn't remember anything after that.

“ _Jalan Atthirar Anni._ ” Viserys turned to see Khal Drogo, eyes wide with fear, gazing at him with his arms outstretched as if he wanted to touch but was ashamed of himself. 

“ _Shekh Ma Shieraki Anni._ ” Viserys replied, struggling to sit up, draping his feet over the edge of the bed. The look in his eyes was so lost, so broken and confused, that Khal Drogo could not help himself as he leapt up, pushing the Khaleesi back onto the bed, draping his body over the smaller man's and capturing his lips in a heated kiss. 

Viserys moaned into the kiss, tangling his fingers in his husband's hair as Drogo leaned up, stripping off the thin white cloth Viserys had been dressed in. 

When the Khal had them both naked, panting into Viserys' hair as he rutted against the silver haired Khaleesi, he reached down, circling his finger around Viserys' entrance, dipping his finger in when Viserys spread his legs eagerly, whining for it. Khal Drogo growled, tearing his hand away and leaning back to sit on his knees, reaching to the shelf above the bed, Doreah's idea on the first day they had arrived, and grabbing the oil. He took out the cork stopper and coated his fingers in oil, setting the small crystal jar down on the floor next to the bed. Then he draped himself back over his Khaleesi, hands going between Viserys' legs again. 

He slid two fingers in this time and started slowly stroking Viserys from the inside out, just as Viserys had showed Khal Drogo on himself.

When he thought Viserys was ready, Khal Drogo captured his lips as he oiled himself up, wrapping the Targaryen's legs around his waist and slowly sliding inside his lover, groaning into Viserys' neck as they broke from the kiss. Viserys clawed at his back, moaning softly and pushing his heels into Drogo's back, pulling the man deeper into him. 

It only took a handful of minutes for Danaerys to walk in on them, screeching in embarrassment as she witnessed the Khal bracing himself above Viserys, pounding into the silver haired man, grunting with each powerful thrust, while Viserys moaned and writhed beneath him, on the verge of his own orgasm, fingers clutching at the sheets and tearing the soft silk in the process. Then Drogo changed his angle slightly, sitting up on his knees as he thrust into his lover so he could rub one hand possessively over Viserys' stomach, as he always did these days, and smirking when the new angle had Viserys crying out, his body tightening around Khal Drogo's cock as the Khaleesi fell over the edge, covering his chest with thick, white ropes of cum, his head thrown back on a primal scream. Khal Drogo followed, throwing his own head back and groaning loudly as he spilled inside his Khaleesi, hand firmly digging into Viserys' hip. Then Danaerys turned and ran from the room, seeking out Ser Jorah for something to distract her from what she had just witnessed.

It was later in the day that the Khal and his Khaleesi joined the feast held in their own tent, the hooded man alive and in the process of being tortured by some of the more powerful Bloodriders, with the verbal assistance of Ser Jorah.

They had come to find that the man worked for someone in King's Landing who wanted Viserys dead. They never could get a name from the man so Khal Drogo demanded he be thrown to the flames, but not before Ser Jorah pulled a knife out of his robes. It was a gold and silver blade of Valyrian steel, engraved with a prayer of fortitude and fertility. There was no reason the man would carry a knife with such a prayer on him but it was still too good a blade to throw to the fire so it was given to Viserys, who strapped it to his own thigh, under the thin white veil of his belted wrap. Later on, Khal Drogo fucked Viserys with the wrap and the knife still on, the Khaleesi rolling himself in a most irresistible way upon the Khal's lap, breathing heavily into his husband's neck, fingers tangled in his hair. 

It was during their stay in Vaes Dothrak that Viserys went before the Dosh Khaleen and the prophecy was made of their child, the Stallion Who Will Mount the World. Viserys had been forced to eat the heart of a horse and so he did, keeping his gaze fixed on his husband's as he took deep breaths, urging himself to keep it down, to make his Khal and Khalasar proud, to be strong and brave. When the ceremony was finished, one of the Dosh Khaleen pulled Viserys aside and told him that there was a chance the child was actually _children_ , as the wise women had only told a half-truth. She told Viserys that his son would be a fierce prince, a conqueror, but his _daughter_ would become the Khaleesi who would unite all the nations, the fiercer protector of The Great Stallion. She said it was a rarer prophecy, one they did not often give, for it was only meant for one child, the one that Viserys would birth. 

Later on that night, when the Khalasar was spread around the tent, sleeping scattered all over the floor and on small beds, when Viserys lay asleep in the arms of his Khal, he had but one thought, one prayer for the gods. 

He would awaken those dragon eggs, one way or another, and with his husband at his side, the Khalasar would build an army, sail across the Narrow Sea to Westeros, leaving Essos behind forever, and take back the Iron Throne for House Targaryen.

_I am Viserys Targaryen, Khaleesi and the Dragon Prince, and I will take what is mine with fire and blood._


End file.
